


The Price of Freedom

by SifaShep



Series: Merc!Shepard AU [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, merc!shepard AU, shepard as a mercenary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:19:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5239550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SifaShep/pseuds/SifaShep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Merc!AU Shepard meet Zaeed Massani?</p>
<p>This is the beginning of an alternative universe where Remy Shepard becomes a powerful mercenary crime boss in the Traverse. It's an AU take of Red Skies. In the 'regular' universe, Remy suffered from a cold and was put in charge of Mindoir Control. Ultimately, that quirk of fate saved his life.</p>
<p>What if Remy had been part of the Mindoir Militia that night and had been taken by the Batarians instead?</p>
<p>TW: violence, language. You've been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Freedom

_“ **Ever been to a Batarian prison? They don’t trust you to send you into slavery, that’s where they send you. In there you got two choices: bash your head against the wall, or kill everyone between you and the exit.”**_

**_\--Zaeed Massani, Mass Effect 2_ **

 

_19 September 2172_

"Get up! Get up, Human!"

Hands grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him across the cell. Then those hands plunged his head underwater. The icy chill assaulted nerves already ragged by constant torture. He coughed and sputtered, as liquid rushed down his throat. His consciousness began to fade....

His body jerked upwards, then flew across the room. The impact with the floor made him choke up rancid water. Stunned, he lay there, as he tried to get enough oxygen.

"You're lucky that wasn't liquid nitrogen or cyanide. Looks like you drew the long straw, Human. Next time, you might get the burning bath. Whaddaya bet, boys, he lasts two minutes?  Three?"

The shrill laughter hurt his ears. He tried to block out the pain, the humiliation. How long had it been since they'd threw him in here? Two days, three? A week? It didn't matter; he was going to make every one of them pay for this...

"He'll last thirty seconds, and that's if he holds his breath."  A grimy hand tangled itself into his hair and pulled him up to his knees. "But I think he can entertain us for a while longer.  I like a...challenge."

The others laughed at the prospect. He refused to look at them, refused to give into their sadistic treatment. Even if they broke his body, his spirit burned with revenge. They had taken his home, his parents, his friends.

But they hadn't taken his will to live.

And that was the only thing that sustained him through this hell.

* * *

Time had no meaning inside a Batarian prison.  He never saw sunlight, so his normally pale skin burned at  _any_  hint of light. His russet hair tumbled over his shoulders. That only meant his keepers planned their version of a haircut, which usually meant a dull knife and lots of Shard Wine.  He'd had three 'haircuts' so far, and he was the current record holder. The last man had survived two and a half, until a slip of the knife had taken off half of his scalp.

Even the best streak of luck didn't last forever.

The jailers voices echoed in the hall outside his cell. He caught the dreaded words 'bit of a trim around the ears'.  Three times lucky, but he knew he wouldn't survive a fourth. He staggered to his feet; he wanted to die on his feet, not his knees.

Suddenly, his door exploded inward as a Batarian flew into the cell. The fool slammed into the opposite wall and slid bonelessly to the floor. Bullets pinged off the metal doorway and buried themselves in the wall.

He didn't hesitate. He quickly stripped the dead man of his pistol, knife and ammo packs. The pistol was an old model, but that didn't matter to him, as long as it worked.

"Wha' do you think you're doin', you goddamn son of a--oh for Christ's sake..." A rough voice shouted from the end of the hall. The speaker snapped his head around to see him. An older man in battered armor, with a scarred face now painted with dark purple Batarian blood.

He fired from the hip and scored a direct hit on one of the jailers. The mercenary spun around, his mouth gaping open at the neat bullet hole in the Batarian's forehead.

"Holy shit...that's one hell of a shot there!" The merc's smile was feral. "Good aim!"

"He deserved it."

"Yeah, bet he did. I take it you're a former resident of this place?"

" _Former_ , yeah. I wanna get outta here."

"Could use another crack shot. Stick with me and we'll see daylight." The merc unslung a sniper rifle from his shoulder and tossed it at him. "Name's Zaeed Massani, by the way."

"Remy. Remy Shepard."

"Pleased to meet you, Remy. Ready for more action?"

He nodded and brandished his new weapon. "Bring it on."

* * *

They took out everyone on their way to the exit. Remy slowly remembered the feel of a sniper rifle in his hands, the satisfaction when an enemy went down. Back on Mindoir, he'd taken out many of the slavers during their raid. They'd killed most of his militia; he was sure he would join them.

It took four Batarian slavers to subdue him, and a fifth one with a sedative.

He recognized a handful of them from the Mindoir raid. Each one wore an expression of shocked horror as he made them pay for their crimes. Zaeed watched him out of the corner of his eye with an unreadable expression on his face.

Sunlight burst through the open door. Remy staggered at the brightness of it. He barely felt Zaeed's guiding hand as they made their way through the prison courtyard and past the ruined gates.

_Sunlight. Fresh air. Freedom._

"How long?" he rasped.

"Come again?"

"What's the date? How long was I in there?"

Zaeed pushed him down to sit under a large tree. "Sit for a sec. You got a pretty bad slash on your arm. Better get that with medigel before it gets infected. I doubt you'd want to die from that after surviving that hellhole."

Remy hissed in pain as Zaeed examined his wound. He hadn't even noticed it, but now that the adrenaline wore off, he felt every cut and bruise. Zaeed's touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how he'd taken care of those Batarians.

"You didn't answer my question. What's the date?"

Zaeed didn't look directly at him. "If it means that much to you...it's the nineteenth of September, 2172."

" _2172_?" Remy's mouth dropped in utter shock. It hadn't been a matter of days or weeks. It had been  _years_. Nearly two and a half years spent in that Batarian prison.

"Yeah." Zaeed finally looked up at him. "Been in there a while, I take it?"

"Two years. Christ, I was in there for  _two years_."

Zaeed whistled in admiration. "Damn. Most people don't last two minutes in a place like that. Either you're a stubborn son of a bitch or lucky one. Maybe both.."

Remy laughed harshly. "Yeah."

"Lemme guess...slaver raid, right?"

"Mindoir, in the Traverse."

"Yeah, heard about that. Nasty business. Had a contract to take out some of the slavers. That's how I ended up here. Just got through the door when one of my men went absolutely berserk. That's how the fight started." Zaeed raised an eyebrow. "Must've been a lucky break for you."

Remy sighed and leaned back against the tree. "I owe you my life. Thanks."

"Hey, no problem." Zaeed chuckled as he began to examine his rifle for scratches and dents. "So...got any plans after we get off this rock?"

"Haven't thought that far ahead yet. I can't go back to Mindoir; nothing left for me there."

"Well, I could use you on my team. Considerin' I'm the only one breathin' right now. You're a damn good shot, and you think quick on your feet. I think you'd be a pretty good merc."

Remy glanced sideways at him. "You're willing to take me in?"

"Sure. I don't turn away potential. And the two of us together...we'd kick arse across the galaxy. Whaddya say?"

He laughed and extended a hand. Zaeed took it and shook it firmly. "What the hell. I'm in."

* * *

 


End file.
